Convergence
by Soledad
Summary: Five times Toshiko Sato didn't sleep with John Watson and one time she did. Set in the "Iceman" verse. 6 chapters plus an epilogue. Story complete.
1. Part 1: The Geek Interpreter

**Convergence**

**by Soledad**

**Title:** Convergence

**Author:** Soledad

**Fandom:** Sherlock BBC/Torchwood crossover (sort of)

**Genre:** Action-adventure/Romance

**Rating:** Teens, just to be on the safe side

**Series:** a side story to "Beautiful Minds". Set in the same AU as "Iceman & the Coffee Boy".

**Timeframe:** after The Great Game for Sherlock, up to Baskerville

**Summary:** Five times Toshiko Sato didn't sleep with John Watson and one time she did.

**Disclaimer:** Characters and situations belong to the almighty BBC in general and to Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss in particular. Some ideas are borrowed from John's online blog. Go and read it, it's hilarious.

**Note:** All these cases mentioned in this story will be fully described in "Beautiful Minds", once I get around to actually writing it. *g*

* * *

**Part 1 – The Geek Interpreter**

The first time John learns about Toshiko's existence is during Moriarty's perverted game. He's wondering how the criminal mastermind could know about 221C and why would Sherlock recognise the place – until he's told that the bleak little flat actually _does_ have a tenant. One that has been "borrowed" by Mycroft for some very hush-hush job aboard but who's just about to return.

"I wish she'd been here when this all started," Sherlock says morosely. "A computer genius like her might have tracked down Moriarty in time.

This is the first time John hears Sherlock speak about another human being with something akin to respect. A _lot_ of respect, actually, which John finds almost shocking.

"I thought _you_ were the computer genius here," he says.

Sherlock's shenanigans – like the trick he uses to sabotage the press conferences of the police – are practically legend, and they require considerable computer skills. But Sherlock shakes his head.

"I'm _good_," he says. "Good enough to play pranks on Lestrade and his idiot minions. She, though… she could bring empires to fall with a mouse click.

"So who _is_ she?" John asks, genuinely curious now.

"Her name is Toshiko Sato," Sherlock replies, rattling down more personal (and presumably confidential) data about the girl than any mortal man should be able to deliver in half an hour.

He delivers them in ten seconds.

John automatically blocks out everything after the fifth. Partly out of respect for the young woman's privacy, partly because some things are more fun if one finds them out himself. Little secrets of a woman belong into that category, at least for John.

And he definitely wants to find out more about the mysterious Toshiko Sato. Any woman who manages to wake Sherlock's interest – even _respect_ – must be quite extraordinary. The fact that she looks freaking cute on the only picture she find about her on the internet (on some obscure scientific website) also plays a role in John's wish to meet her, of course. So far, Sherlock's demands on his time have snipped every half-hearted effort to have a social life in the bud. Perhaps a woman who lives under the same roof and is used to Sherlock's antics would tolerate the situation better.

* * *

The mysterious tenant of 221C arrives two days after the incident at the pool, accompanied by a lorry full of furniture that apparently had been in storage during her absence. She's a lovely young woman in her early thirties, wearing what Harry likes to call 'the sexy secretary outfit': a dark grey pencil skirt with a short-sleeved, form-fitting blouse and high heels. Her long, straight dark hair is hastily twisted into a low knot on the nape of her neck, and she's wearing glasses to complete the picture.

Unlike Sherlock, she bears no outward sign of being a genius. To be honest, she looks like a typical wallflower in your average lab. Like another Molly Hooper.

But her grip is surprisingly firm when they are introduced to each other, and when their eyes meet – she looks him straight in the eyes – John realises his mistake. He understands that, unlike Molly, Toshiko Sato isn't particularly _shy_. She's _reserved_, in that unparalleled way only someone of Japanese origins can be. Beyond that inscrutable mask, however, she's well aware of her own worth and her somewhat haunted eyes reveal that she's seen much – perhaps too much – in her young life already.

Which may be the reason why she's appears easily intimidated while, in fact, she is _not_.

There's calculated interest in those haunted eyes when Sherlock introduces John as "Dr Watson. He assists me in my cases."

"PhD or MD?" she asks promptly.

"MD," John replies truthfully, a little surprised by the question.

"Pity," she says with an ironic half-smile. "I was so looking forward to consult a fellow scientist from time to time."

"Well, there's always Sherlock," John offers, but she shakes her head.

"Chemistry isn't my field of interest; and he's pretty much an amateur in every other area. A supremely well-informed amateur, for sure, but still an amateur."

Amazingly enough, Sherlock doesn't take her apart with scathing remarks for that statement. John's respect for the reserved little woman goes up several notches.

"So, you're a doctor, then," she says, giving him a measuring look. "Ex-military, I suppose – invalided out of service?"

John groans in despair that's only half-faked. "Oh God, not another one!"

She smiles at him. "Don't worry; I'm not pulling a Sherlock on you. It's just so that I recognise a soldier when I see one. Both my parents were in the RAF; plus you're favouring your left side – wounded?"

"Shot in the shoulder, actually," John admits, and she winces in sympathy.

"Ouch! Not good. A bullet can cause a great deal of damage there I'm told. Is that why your hand's trembling?"

John looks at her in suspicion. "Are you sure you're _not_ related to Sherlock?"

She tilts her head to the side. "I'm merely observant, Dr Watson. Most quiet people are."

"Please, call me John," he says, and she nods in agreement.

"If you'll call me Tosh," she replies, and that's that.

* * *

Barely has Toshiko settled down again when Sherlock takes on a new case… and a fairly ridiculous one, John finds. It's something about issues in a comic that apparently have started happening in real life. Or so the three young men coming to Baker Street claim. They're obviously insane, and John just can't understand the "case" if it can be called one, would catch Sherlock's fancy.

Yet it does. Turning away mysterious deaths and worldwide conspiracies, Sherlock decides to look into this one.

John is exasperated, since Chris Melas, the young man with the website about a series of comic books – _graphic novels_, the guy corrects every time, and seriously, John is just about ready to shoot him the next time he does so – is clearly losing it. He's already scared away most of his friends and family with his ridiculous idea of a conspiracy. Only his two equally insane assistants and a mysterious online chat partner hold out on his side. Even Sherlock admits that one of the three possible explanations is that the guy is suffering from some kind of psychological delusions.

This doesn't hinder him, though, recruiting Toshiko's help, and she agrees, just to have her peace from him. Being a computer genius that she is, it takes her no time at all to track down Chris' mysterious chatting partner – who turns out to working for the publishers of said comic. Graphic novel. Whatever.

The three of them are equally upset when they realise that the publishers are using Chris as a form of advertising, not caring that it may turn him insane. Well, Toshiko and John are upset. Sherlock just wants to wrap up the case 'cause now that he's solved it, he's bored again. Tosh finds it endearing how John can still get upset over Sherlock not caring for the human aspect of the case, even after having lived with the detective for eighteen months.

"What have you expected?" she asks with a shrug when they're having a post-case drink in her flat that evening. "He's a Holmes. Caring is not something they do."

Knowing that she works for Mycroft in some nebulous way John realizes that she'd probably know more about that than he.

Unfortunately, the publishers haven't actually done anything illegal, so calling in the police isn't an option. So John and Sherlock use the latest issue of the comic – pardon, _gothic novel_ – to reveal their machinations to the wide audience.

That this requires them to dress up as ninjas and fight Chris – masked as one of the comic's superheroes – before said audience in Soho is not something that would surprise John anymore. He _has_ been living with Sherlock for eighteen months, after all.

That he's hurt in said mock fight when his bad leg gives in and he lands on his injured shoulder is a recurring occasion as well. Or that Sherlock would storm off, fed up with the solved case, leaving him to get home alone.

It is Toshiko who picks him up with her own car later, having followed their progress via CCTV. She takes him to her own flat, gives him some foul-smelling salve for his shoulder and a double Scotch to soothe his nerves.

That night, John crashes on the delicate leather sofa in her study/sitting-room/whatever. And when he types up the adventure in his blog a few days later (on June 16, to be accurate) there is no mention about Toshiko's involvement.

John has learned to take Mycroft's warnings seriously.

~TBC~


	2. Part 2: The Speckled Blonde

**Convergence**

**by Soledad**

**Part 02 – The Speckled Blonde**

The second time it _almost_ happens is when Toshiko nearly dies.

It has to do – how could it happen otherwise – with one of Sherlock's cases; the one that later becomes known as the case of _The Speckled Blonde_, thanks to John's blog.

The case has a mundane enough start. A woman in her early thirties, with dyed blonde hair, is found in her bed. At the first examination John can find no obvious case of death, save for the strange red speckles all over her body.

Whatever they are.

The first surprise is that Toshiko happens to know the victim, Julia Stone. Apparently, they went to grammar school together. With her help, John finds Julia's sister, Helen, who tells him that Julia did feel a bit rundown for the last few weeks.

"But I figured she was stressed 'cause she was getting married, soon," she says dejectedly, as if it were her fault that she hasn't noticed something might have been wrong with her sister.

John tries to comfort her but fails. Fortunately, Toshiko is with him and takes over the task. John has never been more grateful for her presence.

It's only after he's witnessed Molly performing the autopsy that he discovers two small puncture marks on the victim's right ankle. The blood work comes back showing traces of an unidentified poison in her bloodstream.

"The obvious answer is that she was bitten by something, presumably some kind of snake," Sherlock declares in utter self-confidence. "John, start phoning the local zoos. See if any snakes have recently escaped. And you," he turns to Toshiko, "tell me about her family."

Toshiko tries to protest because honestly, she's swamped with work assigned to her by Mycroft, but nobody says _no_ to Sherlock Holmes. That is, they can try, but they end up doing his bidding anyway. It's just like a natural law.

While neither of the zoos is complaining about reptile escapees, Toshiko finds out that Julia lived with Helen and their stepfather, a certain Dr Roylott. The latter is apparently a big name in cosmetics. Even guest starred on Connie Price's show a few times.

"Both seem genuinely devastated by Julia's death," Toshiko says, after a brief visit to the Roylott house. "Her fiancé, though, this Percy Armitage character, is a strange one. I never saw a man with such a bushy beard outside of historic films. He also keeps snakes. Could one of those have bitten Julia?"

"Have you asked him?" Sherlock counters.

Toshiko rolls her eyes. "Of course I have. He said Julia hated the snakes so wouldn't go near them."

"Not voluntarily anyway," Sherlock mutters and ignores them both for the rest of the day.

* * *

The case goes on for a few days but they don't seem to be getting anywhere. Sherlock is convinced that Julia was murdered, but he still cannot find any hard proof.

"A snake can't get into someone's bedroom, kill them in their sleep and then leave without being spotted by anyone else," he argues. "We need to keep an eye on this Percy Armitage."

Unfortunately for them, it turns out Percy has an alibi for the night Julia was killed and he keeps his snakes at his own flat. Sherlock still isn't convinced about his innocence.

'It's obvious that he's was involved but wherever we turn, we hit a brick wall," he admits through gritted teeth. "I'm overlooking something important! Stupid, stupid, stupid…"

The case has become a four-patch problem by that meantime.

Toshiko feels that she can't really care anymore. She's feeling tired and run down, which isn't really surprising, considering that she's just recently returned from a lengthy mission abroad and never had the chance to rest and recover from it. So she just tries to shut herself into 221C and avoid Sherlock as well as it's possible with the madman living right above her head.

She panics a bit, though, when the strange red speckles appear on her arms and chest and turns to John for help. John takes her to the surgery where he sometimes works, for a blood test. Traces of the same unknown poison can be found in her bloodstream that was in Julia's.

"That's impossible!" Sherlock declares. "They haven't had any contact for twenty years or so."

John just shakes his head. "The blood test doesn't lie, Sherlock."

"Something must have changed then, and recently," Sherlock decides. "She's been living here longer than I have, and she was never ill. We need to retract her actions since Julia's death."

They recruit Mrs Hudson to help them, as she's the only one who actually knows Toshiko's routine. She goes through the flat with them and shakes her head. Nothing unusual there. Then they enter the bath, and her eyes focus on the bottle of expensive-looking bubble bath standing on the rim of her bathtub.

"That one," she says. "That's new. I never saw her using the brand before."

Sherlock picks up the bottle and reads the label. "It's Roylott's," he says. "Developed by his company."

He bounces up the stairs to research the brand on John's laptop – and turns up empty-handed.

"Apparently, it isn't yet available in the shops," he says. "Where can Tosh possibly have it from?"

"Why don't you ask her?" John returns dryly. Sherlock shakes his head.

"Boring. You go and talk to her. I'll take the bottle to _Bart's_ and analyse the contents."

He finds a slow-acting poison in the bubble bath.

"Every time somebody uses it, they'd be slowly killing themselves," he explains to a shocked Molly. He then calls John to see what he's found out from Toshiko.

"She got the bottle from Helen, who had it from her stepfather," John tells him on the phone. "He apparently promised that it had already been tested and was safe. But Helen didn't like the scent, so she gave it Toshiko as a gift."

"A gift that would make the Borgias proud," Sherlock mutters.

"You mean it wasn't an accident?" John asks, shocked. "Or possibly an allergic reaction?"

Sherlock snorts. "Oh, do try to use that pathetic little brain of yours, John! How could it _possibly_ be an accident? Even if Julia and Helen would share the same allergic tendencies, how high would the possibility of Tosh suffering from the same allergies be? And before you'd try to calculate, I happen to know that the only things she's allergic to are vasoactive amines."

John needs a minute to realise the meaning of that. "You mean bananas make her vomit?" he clarifies. That's one important piece of information that he files away for later use.

Sherlock is ignoring him. "Therefore, we can deduce that the stepfather killed Julia in cold blood and was planning to do the same with Helen," he says. "He put the puncture marks in Julia's ankle to turn the police's attention to Percy and his snakes. Oh, very clever! He couldn't know, of course, that Helen would give the bottle to Tosh."

"So, what are we gonna do now?" John demands.

"Now we go and confront the man before he manages to kill his other step-daughter, too," Sherlock replies in his I'm-talking-to-an-idiot tone.

They rush to the Roylott house, but when they reach it, it's too late – Roylott's already dead. He's hung himself from the kitchen light-fitting. They search the house for a note that might explain why the man wanted to kill his step-daughters but find nothing.

"Perhaps they reminded him of his late wife?" John suggests. "Or it could be about money. Or perhaps he was just mad."

Sherlock's only answer is a derisive snort, but he cannot come up with any better ideas, either. So they call the police to wrap up the case and leave, as there isn't anything else for them to do. Some questions can never be answered; for Helen it will be particularly painful, never to learn the true reason.

John spends the night in an uncomfortable chair at Toshiko's bedside. When he wakes up in the morning, his back hurts like a bitch and his neck is painfully stiff. But he's still holding Toshiko's hand, and somehow it's worth the discomfort.

~TBC~


	3. Part 3: The Aluminium Crutch

**Convergence**

**by Soledad**

**Part 3 – The Aluminium Crutch**

The third time they _almost_ do it is entirely Sherlock's fault. Not that _that_ would surprise anyone because honestly, who else would come up with the insane idea of nicking John's theatre-tickets to take out Toshiko to a play as a compensation for the bubble bath incident?

The very same theatre-tickets John's taken great pains to get for his current girlfriend – nicknamed by Sherlock as _the one with the nose_, as if the others didn't have one – as an apology for too many cancelled dates.

_The one with the nose_ (and with the big, mean dog that tried to bite John at several occasions), who's wanted to see _Terror By Night_ in that new little place on the Strand for quite some time, breaks up with John as a result, of course. And despite some guilty relief that he won't have to walk the dog-shaped monster anymore, John doesn't react well to another budding relationship ending prematurely because of his inconsiderate flatmate.

He refuses to speak with Sherlock for several days to come.

That Sherlock returns from the theatre bouncing off the walls because of a murder happening live on stage doesn't help things, of course. Neither does the fact that Sherlock solves the case within the hour and is insufferably pleased with himself for the next couple of days.

John reiterates by typing up Sherlock's deductions – the ones he delivered in a number of messages on his voicemail because he couldn't be bothered to call the police himself and expected John to do so for him – with all the erratic leaps in logic which, frankly, makes the world's only consulting detective sound like an idiot.

Unfortunately for him, Sherlock doesn't care, and it doesn't make John feel any better afterwards.

(Little does he know that people in _very_ high places will find this particular story the most enjoyable of all. But that's a different matter entirely.)

So he ends up hiding away in 221C again – as for some reason he hasn't figured out yet, Sherlock never looks for him there – because he can't trust himself _not_ to throttle his best friend in his sleep. Now that the man, having solved the case, actually _does_ sleep a few hours.

"I've put up with the screeching of the violin at 3am," he complains bitterly. "I've put up with the mess all over the flat, with the experiments in the kitchen, with the eyeballs in the microwave and the thumbs in the fridge, next to my lunch. I've put up with being kidnapped by friend and foe alike, although sometimes I truly wonder which is which. I've put up with doing all the mundane tasks in the flat, like shopping and washing the dishes and cleaning up. I've put up with having my belongings, what little I have, borrowed without asking first. But does he really have to annoy away my girlfriends, too, before even they could become, you know, my actual girlfriends?"

Toshiko listens to his rant with gentle compassion and pours him a double Scotch for comfort.

"Have you considered that he may simply be jealous?" she then asks, sipping her jasmine tea. John pulls a face.

"I'm getting sick and tired of explaining everyone that I'm not actually gay," he says tiredly.

Toshiko smiles. "That's not what I mean. Look… you're the only person who's held out with Sherlock _voluntarily_ for more than a year. Yes, I understand that you're not gay, but you do provide him with everything _else_ one could hope from a committed relationship."

John tries to protest, but she silences him by putting down her teacup and counting things down on her fingers.

"You provide him with company. You see that he eats and sleeps, at least as much as he's capable of. You stand up to him when he's being obnoxious and you navigate him around the pitfalls of social interaction. _And_ you admire him for what he is and aren't afraid to show it. These are things he never had before. Is it really so surprising that he's terrified of losing it, should you find a woman you're seriously interested in?"

"You make it sound as if he were a child with abandonment issues," John huffs.

"Isn't he?" she asks seriously, and it's hard to argue with _that_.

"I'd never abandon him," John says quietly, after a long pause.

"I know you won't," Toshiko answers gently. "But should you find a true love interest, your attention, which he can and does monopolize fully at the moment, would be divided. And that scares him more than he'd be willing to admit."

"And _that_ makes me… what exactly?" John asks, not really buying it.

"The person he needs most," Toshiko replies promptly. "My sympathies. Given that he's a Holmes, and a possessive one even by his family's standards, that puts you in a situation nobody would envy."

"You mean all Holmeses are like that?" John asks in surprise. He can't imagine Mycroft being so childishly jealous. Although, seeing how he watches Sherlock's every step…

Toshiko nods. "I never met their infamous Mummy, mind you, but both brothers show the same possessive tendencies. Mr. Holmes is much better where social graces are concerned, of course, but deep within they're not that different, really. They're both brilliant, infuriating… and broken."

"And where do _you_ enter this picture?" John gives in to the curiosity that has been tickling him ever since he met Toshiko for the first time. "Which one does consider you his own? Or do they fight over you?"

"They don't have to," Toshiko replies flatly. "Mr. Holmes _owns_ me in ways you can't even imagine, and Sherlock has learned the hard way not to touch that which is his brother's."

"I thought slavery has been outlawed in this country for quite some time," John comments dryly.

"It's not quite that romantic," Toshiko says. "I owe Mr Holmes everything: my life, my sanity, my freedom, such as it is in these days; and he's a man who collects his debts," she smiles at John's thunderous expression. "Don't be so shocked. All he's interested in is my brain. I'm _useful_ for him, and he has every right to use me."

"And that's different from slavery how exactly?" John asks, his eyes dark with anger.

"It's called indentured servitude," Toshiko corrects. "The original agreement was to work for him for five years in exchange of… well, that's another story for another time. So far, we've both upheld our respective ends of the bargain, and the five years are almost over. But…"

"But you've proved too useful for Mycroft to let you go," John realises, and Toshiko nods.

"I don't blame him if he doesn't," she admits quietly. "What I've done… I didn't deserve his intervention, and if I worked for him a century, it wouldn't erase my debt. It's just…"

"It's just so that you're a human being, not a machine, and that's something the Holmeses seem to have difficulties to understand," John finishes for her.

She nods, her eyes suspiciously bright.

"I don't think anyone else would understand," she says, and John can't help but agree, because Anthea, or what her name really might be, clearly doesn't count. She _is_ a machine, or something very close to it.

And since this is a day when they both need comfort and companionship, John doesn't return to 221B for the night. They sleep in Toshiko's bed, curled up against each other for warmth and reassurance like two lost children.

The sounds of Sherlock's violin can barely be heard in the basement, and John doesn't have a nightmare during the night.

~TBC~


	4. Part 4: The Six Thatchers

**Convergence**

**by Soledad**

**Part 4 – The Six Thatchers**

Sherlock tries to make up to John after the theatre disaster. He really does. He even agrees to go with John to do the Christmas shopping – which inevitably ends in another disaster.

"I can only blame myself," John explains to Toshiko later, sitting in 221C and nursing the usual double Scotch of comfort; by now Toshiko keeps a bottle in her cupboard solely for his sake. "I mean, seriously, what was I _thinking_? How could I come up with the insane idea of dragging him to something as mundane as Christmas shopping?"

"I bet he was bored," Toshiko comments, her eyes bright with amusement over the rim of her delicate china teacup.

John sighs. "When isn't he bored, unless we're chasing crazed murderers over the roofs of London? He was sniping all the time, insulting random people we bumped into… but the worst time was when we happened upon Father Christmas in one of the warehouses, surrounded by a bunch of kids who were telling him about their wishes."

"Good Lord," Toshiko giggles because she has a vivid imagination. "That must have been a true disaster waiting to happen."

"You tell me," John agrees glumly. "He shouted at a Father Christmas that he was bored and wanted a nice juicy murder for Christmas – in front of all those kids and their parents. Of course, somebody called the police and we were escorted back to the flat like some petty criminals."

Toshiko giggles some more. "I saw you. I was having tea with Mrs Hudson and that girl, the student who was waiting for you – well, for Sherlock – for an hour or so. The client who came to you because of the murder at her university."

John nods. "Yeah, the art student stabbed by his boyfriend who then hid the knife in one of the victim's Thatcher figures, just when they were about to go into the oven. Of course, as there were six identical figures, he had to break into the houses of the people who bought the things, so he could get the evidence and make if vanish for good."

"Still, it was a pretty clever solution to push the knife into the clay, especially as he had to come up with it on the spot," Toshiko says, and John nods again.

"My thoughts exactly. Of course Sherlock described as disappointingly simple. Then the next day he kept going on about how he'd have got away with that I got fed up with him and went to the pub."

"That was cruel," Toshiko comments, amused. "He _needs_ his audience, you know."

Johns shrugs. "There's that frozen turkey in the fridge for one of his weird experiments. They seemed to go on well enough when I left."

Toshiko giggles again and refills his glass. Then, after a moment of consideration, she pours herself a large Martini.

"All right," she says. "Tell me more about the case. Give me all the details; especially those you won't reveal in your blog."

John doesn't feel like returning to a sulking Sherlock, so he's more than willing to do just that. After several more drinks they are both more than tipsy and start flirting like two teenagers. Another hour later they are drunk enough to go over to the next phase – but promptly fall asleep, cuddling on her sofa.

In the morning, John wakes up with a stiff back, a hangover and the mixed feeling of regret and relief. As much as he misses female company (thanks to Sherlock's constant interference), a drunken romp in the hay is _not_ what a classy lady like Toshiko deserves. There will be other chances – or so he hopes.

She's already gone to whatever mysterious task Mycroft might have appointed her to. But there's a thermos of tea on the coffee table, with a couple of biscuits, and a post-to note encouraging John to use the shower.

He accepts the offer at the odd chance that Sherlock would have used up all the hot water upstairs, as always.

~TBC~


	5. Part 5: A Scandal in Belgravia

**Convergence**

**by Soledad**

**Part 5 – A Scandal in Belgravia**

The aftermath of the Irene Adler affair is _not_ pleasant. Sherlock has apparently accepted the lie about _The Woman_ having got herself into some witness protection scheme in the USA and seems to have shrugged off the whole thing with his usual indifference. But Irene _has_ bested him in _almost_ everything, and John has known him long enough to realise that he's still bothered by his near-failure and still cannot quite understand how it could have happened.

"Sometimes I truly wonder if any of those old families have ever realised that we've reached the twenty-first century," Toshiko says thoughtfully on the evening of John's fateful encounter with Mycroft at _Speedy's_. "They send their sons into those all-boys public schools at the most vulnerable age 'cos it's supposedly so good for building connections."

"Isn't it?" John asks. He's refused the obligatory Scotch and is sipping tea with her.

"Well, it perhaps is," Toshiko allows. "I'm a woman and a foreigner at that, what do I know? I spent quite a few of my school years in Osaka. But it also means that those boys won't even see a girl their own age until they finish school, save for the vacations. They may slip out to go to the hookers when they reach a certain age – I suppose it must be a rite of passage for them. But that doesn't prepare them to deal with women who might be their equals. And against someone like Irene Adler, a posh boy like Sherlock would be defenceless. She'd appear to him terrifying as an army with banners. And twice as appealing, I guess, as he is without arms or armour to withstand the onslaught and would find it exhilarating.(1)"

"Sherlock is not a child," John reminds her. "I'm fairly sure that he… _dabbled_ while living on the street."

Toshiko nods. "As an experiment, perhaps. Under controlled circumstances; and hen decided that it wasn't his thing. But one can't mention Irene Adler and _controlled_ at the same breath, right? She's so far above any man's control it isn't even measurable."

"She's also dead," John says, because she's one of the few people who know the truth.

Toshiko looks at him intently. "Do you really believe that? Do you _really_ think Sherlock would allow her to be executed?"

"You mean he's known the truth all the time?" John asks. That he was manipulated by Mycroft into lying to Sherlock about Irene's fate bothers him very much.

Toshiko smiles. "No offence, John, but you're a lousy liar. You couldn't even fool _me_, let alone Sherlock."

"Then why did Mycroft want _me_ to tell Sherlock?" John asks forlornly.

Toshiko shrugs. "Perhaps he _wanted_ Sherlock to know and chose the indirect method of telling him. Who knows? I stopped asking why Mr. Holmes does or doesn't do things years ago."

"So Sherlock _knows_ she's dead?" John murmurs.

"Is she?" Toshiko asks quietly.

It's John's turn to shrug now. "Mycroft said he was thorough this time. That it would take Sherlock Holmes to fool him."

"Exactly," Toshiko replies.

John shakes his head. "Impossible. He couldn't have left England without Mycroft's knowledge."

That earns him another eyeroll. "Oh, for God's sake, John, you really believe Sherlock would have travelled to Pakistan of Afghanistan or any other Islamic country. You do read the papers every day; you must have realised that there's been quite a deal of home-grown terrorism in the UK lately. Making extremist videos dressed like the Taliban is very popular with people who are using religion as a way of venting their anger at the world."

"So, why didn't they blow up something then?" John asks. "Isn't that what terrorists usually do?"

Toshiko nods thoughtfully. "Established terrorist groups, yes. But if they've newly emerged and are aiming for foreign sponsors, this was probably the cleverest thing to do. Think about it: Irene Adler hit the international headlines. She's become a celebrity; everyone would recognise her. She also represents something that true fundamentalists would find utterly disgusting and disruptive."

"They're not the only ones thinking that," John mutters angrily. "But if Mycroft wanted the terrorists to get rid of Irene for him, why didn't he stop Sherlock?"

He feels the mother of all stress-related headaches coming his way. Toshiko shrugs.

"Perhaps he didn't think Sherlock could infiltrate the group and get her in time. Again, who knows? The two of them have been playing this game all their lives; we're spectators at best. Spectators that aren't given all the pieces to put the puzzle together because we aren't _supposed_ to know. He gave you the official MI5 version of Miss Adler's demise, and he will stick to it, no matter what."

"Do you think Mycroft knows what Sherlock did?" John asks and Toshiko nods without hesitation.

"There are very few things on this planet that Mr. Holmes _doesn't_ know; none of them within the UK."

"Why the whole farce about the witness protection scheme then?" John has rarely been so confused in his life. "Why send me to Sherlock with a transparent lie when both knew the truth? The _whole_ truth."

Toshiko thinks about it for quite some time.

"I think it's a truce," she finally replies. "Sherlock now knows that Mr. Holmes knows what he did; but it also means that if Sherlock agrees never to see Miss Adler again. Mr. Holmes won't pursue her anymore."

"And you seriously believe Sherlock would keep up his end of the bargain?" John is understandably doubtful. "Or Mycroft, for that matter?"

"Sherlock likes to test the limits of Mr. Holmes's patience," Toshiko says grimly, "but he knows exactly when he has to back off."

"Sherlock, backing off?" John shakes his head in disbelief. "I find _that_ really hard to imagine."

"You've never seen Mr Holmes truly angry," Tosh says in a strangely flat voice.

"Have _you_?" John asks with a frown.

"Once," Toshiko replies, "and I hope I never will again. It gave me nightmares, and I wasn't even the one he was angry with."

"So I can be grateful when he's just the ruthless, manipulative bastard as usual?" John asks. "Sometimes I wonder what I have done to end up as a pinball between the Holmes brothers, holding their proverbial rackets."

"You can be grateful that Mr. Holmes sees you as _useful_," Toshiko counters. "He even likes you, as far as he can like anyone. That can change, though, should he no longer find your influence beneficial for Sherlock."

"And then what?" John isn't really scared, although he probably should. But he's realised that the only way to deal with Mycroft Holmes is _not_ to show fear in his presence; or on the computer screen on which he's probably watching them at the moment.

"Then, if you're very lucky, you'll be discarded," Toshiko replies in utter seriousness. "You must understand that – while he carries the fate of the whole nation on his shoulders – Sherlock is the only _person_ he really cares for."

"I know he does," John remembers the lengths Mycroft would have been willing to go, just to cover Sherlock's involvement in the Bond Air fiasco. Having one crippled Army doctor removed from the game would be child's play for him. Then a thought occurs to him. "Hey, are you supposed to talk about these things with me?"

"Of course not," Toshiko gives him her best are-you-an-idiot?-look. "But I thought I'd warn you. So I caused a temporary disturbance in the surveillance cameras, which should end in about thirty seconds. Kiss me."

John nearly chokes on his tea. "What?"

"We need to give surveillance team an idea what were we doing while they couldn't see us. Preferably a false one, so kiss me!"

And as John is still too shocked to act, she grabs his face in both hands and snogs him within an inch of his life, just as the surveillance cameras blink back to life.

They spend the night on Toshiko's sofa, watching crap telly and occasionally snogging, to entertain the surveillance teams, until they fall asleep, still fully clothed. John's only regret in the next morning is that it was all fake.

~TBC~

* * *

(1) Toshiko's metaphor is a quote from "The Rose Rent" by Ellis Peters.

The part about the home-grown terrorist group is an idea borrowed from the ilovemycroft website, elaborated by wellingtongoose in the article "Checkmate – end game".


	6. Part 6: The Hounds of Baskerville

**Convergence**

**by Soledad**

**Part 6 – The Hounds of Baskerville**

Toshiko doesn't see John after the near-disastrous affair with _t__he Woman_ for quite some time. It is by her own choice, to tell the truth. She tries to keep out of the way of the flatmates of 221B as far as she can because Sherlock doesn't have any cases and he's bored. And a bored Sherlock is hyperactive, rude, arrogant and a real pain in the arse.

A bored Sherlock on nicotine cold turkey is a disaster waiting to happen. Toshiko really wonders how John is able to deal with him. The man must be a saint.

The day Sherlock comes home covered with blood and carrying a harpoon only reinforces her decision to stay away from them.

John later tells her that Sherlock solved a case on that particular morning by harpooning a dead pig. Something about an old sea captain being pinned to the wall of his own cottage, apparently. She doesn't ask for details. She knows she's better off not knowing.

When both men leave on the same day for Devon, she's still not particularly concerned. Their cases often call them to the most unlikely places. However, when John texts her to asks what she can tell him about the Baskerville research facility, she starts panicking.

Unlike most people, she _does_ know a lot about what's going on in Baskerville. The government think tank – the one she used to work for some ten years before her imprisonment – was involved in quite a few Baskerville projects. She doesn't really think _Sherlock_ could be in much trouble; the name Holmes and his connection to Mr Holmes will likely protect him, as always. But she's definitely worried about _John_.

She doesn't want to alert Mr Holmes; not yet, not while there's still a chance that things won't actually go pear-shaped, but she doesn't want to sit idly, either. Because things have an alarming tendency to _go_ pear-shaped whenever Sherlock is involved.

So she does the only thing she can think of: she calls Ianto. If anyone, he'll be able to deal with the situation, without actually involving Mr Holmes.

Ianto thanks her and promises to keep an eye on his wayward uncle. After that, Toshiko doesn't hear from any of the men involved.

Sherlock and John return several days later, in high spirits. Well, at least _Sherlock_ seems to be in high spirits. John is strangely subdued, and it's more than his usual weariness whenever Sherlock oversteps his boundaries. This time it seems deeper and more permanent.

Yet, unlike other times, he doesn't come down to 221C to vent his frustration. So Toshiko looks up his blog, to see what's happened – and she understands-

She understands what it must mean to a man as fiercely loyal as John that his best friend simply experimented on him, without a second thought about his mental and emotional well-being.

Or a first one, for that matter.

She's not fooled by the light-hearted tone of the blog. She knows John well enough by now to understand how this betrayal must have wounded him.

So she sends a text message. _John, come down and let's talk._

And in the evening John comes indeed.

"I've never been so scared in my whole life like when trapped in that bloody lab," he admits. "Not even in Afghanistan, or when I was wrapped in Semtex at that damn pool. I could hear this monster coming from me. And then I saw it... I've been through some terrifying experiences in my life but that was one of the worst. Something that just seemed so unbelievable and so unstoppable... Those eyes..."

He shudders. Toshiko pours him another Scotch without being asked.

"And all that because my best friend drugged me, to see the reaction of _a simple mind_," he continues bitterly. "I saw the hound because that's what I'd expected to see. I guess that means the experiment was a success… even if it turned me out of my bloody mind."

"Was it?" Toshiko asks quietly. "As a doctor, you must have seen the effects of quite a number of drugs. What was different this time?"

"What was different?" John throws back his Scotch and Toshiko pours him another one. "I hadn't just seen the hound. I'd heard it. I'd felt it getting closer. I'd felt the fear inside me..."

"But it wasn't the coffee Sherlock made you, after all," Toshiko points out. John nods.

"True. But that isn't the point. The point is, Sherlock _thought_ it was in the sugar and he poisoned me deliberately. How could he do that to me? While at the same time declaring that I was his only friend…"

"You are," Toshiko assures him. "But he's a Holmes. They don't understand boundaries of any kind. It's like a genetic defect."

"I can't imagine _Mycroft_ doing anything so foolish," John says.

"No," Toshiko agrees grimly. "Mr Holmes won't do anything spontaneously stupid like that. By him, it would be pre-meditated, carefully calculated, and you'd never learn the truth about it. Trust me; you're better off with Sherlock. At least he'd never _willingly_ harm you."

"No, he just might kill me one day out of pure distraction," John mutters angrily and Toshiko nods.

"That's the risk you'll have to take if you want to remain on his side."

John sighs defeatedly. "What else could I do? The idiot needs me; and I need him. I'm just sick and tired of being used without consideration."

"Believe me; I know the feeling," Toshiko replies. Then she takes the glass from his unresisting fingers and pulls him to his feet. "Come with me. I think we both can use a little distraction of our own. No strings attached."

John follows her to the bedroom, and they spend the night together, clinging to each other for the little human warmth comfort sex can give two lonely people. And for that night – and for infrequently occurring future nights – it's enough.

~TBC~

My apologies for the belated update. For some reason, this chapter was incredibly hard to write. The Epilogue follows up directly.


	7. Epilogue

**Convergence**

**by Soledad**

**Author's note:** Brownie points to those who remember the show Tosh is hinting at.

* * *

**Epilogue**

Toshiko isn't particularly surprised when she sees the familiar, sleek black car pull up next to her on her way home. One of the back doors opens without any comment from the passenger within, and she climbs in obediently. Trying to escape would be a futile effort, so she doesn't even bother.

"What can I do for you today, Mr. Holmes?" her voice is calm; the only thing it expresses is polite interest.

"You can tell me what are your intentions concerning Dr. Watson," Mycroft Holmes is usually more diplomatic than that, but he doesn't _have_ to be with Toshiko. He practically owns her, and they both know that.

Would anyone else ask that question, Toshiko would tell them in no uncertain terms that it's none of their business. Not _this_ man, though. This man is entitled to that question – or any other question he fancies to ask.

Under normal circumstances Mycroft Holmes couldn't care less whom Toshiko socializes (and occasionally sleeps) with. But John Watson is crucial for Sherlock's well-being, and therefore he's crucial for Mycroft, too. Besides, he's the only person on Earth who has he right to control Toshiko's social life. Without him, she'd be slowly going mad, forgotten in that UNIT prison; and should he disapprove her choices, she could find herself back there faster than Sherlock can say "atrocious".

That's another thing they both know. Therefore – like always when her true employer asks a question – Toshiko answers with complete honesty.

"I have no intentions of any kind concerning him. I like him and enjoy his company; that's all. I'm well aware of the fact that he's been claimed… and by whom."

"My brother," the shadow lord of Great Britain says slowly, his pointy nose almost literally growing longer in indignation, "has no romantic interest in Doctor Watson whatsoever. And vice versa."

"I know that, sir," Toshiko replies ruefully, "or I'd never got a chance with him. Not that it would matter. What those two have is so far beyond physical attraction that it couldn't even be touched by such mundane things."

"And what do _you_ have with the good doctor?" the mercilessly analytical mind of Mycroft Holmes is almost audibly kicking into second gear, but Toshiko has nothing to hide.

"Companionship," she replies simply. "A bit of harmless fun, too. There are a few small things – mundane, boring things you would probably say – that living with an eccentric genius can't give him. So he gets them elsewhere."

"And what would those things be?" it's almost a sneer, as if stating that there's something – _anything_ – of importance a Holmes would lack would be a personal affront against the current head of that mighty clan.

But Toshiko isn't as easily frightened as she used to be.

"Affection," she says bluntly. "A bit of human warmth. Caring. That sort of thing."

"And sex," Mycroft is every bit as blunt as she is; his nose unconsciously wrinkles at that mental image. Toshiko nods, secretly enjoying the powerful man's discomfort.

"That, too. He's very good at it. You'd be surprised… sir."

Mycroft briefly closes his eyes. "I'll take your word on that, my dear. I wasn't asking about Doctor Watson's sexual prowess, thank you."

"Not with words," Toshiko counters, feeling suddenly wicked and could see currently-Anthea's shoulders shake ever so slightly. By the way a Holmes – _any_ Holmes – reacts to the mere idea of sex, one would think they'd all been conceived via in-vitro fertilization and grown in gestation tanks. Like in that old American sci-fi show.

On second thought, perhaps it isn't that far-fetched, after all.

~The End~


End file.
